A few minutes at the end of the program was set aside for questions.“What about your children?” someone asked.“Are they or have they been treated differently because their mother has been in prison?”The three women seated at the table in the front of the room had all served their time. Two of them several years. One of them twenty-five years. The children of the two younger women had been born in prison and were too young to know about prison or about what their mom had done or to face the teasing and taunting and discrimination that older children might have faced. The children of the older woman had been raised by grandparents and grew up only periodically seeing their Mom. Fortunately, for them, a strong support system was in place and they competed high school and then college and are finding their own way in the world.

But, it is an important question isn’t it?Do we punish or allow children to be punished for the wrong doing of the parents?Many children, maybe most in the situation asked about, suffer the consequences of the destructive decisions and behavior of their parents. Poverty. Lack of support. Abuse. But do we, you and me, punish the children or think the children deserve to be punished?

As I listened to those mothers speak about the impact of their decisions on their children, I found myself thinking of the DACA (Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals) students who now, because of current climate and policy, face an uncertain future. Brought to this country when they were children by parents who were fleeing oppression or violence or poverty and who are now in high school or college in the only country many of them have ever known, should they be forced to leave? Forced to “return” to a county they have never known? Will we punish them for the decisions their parents made?

At a recent rally in support of the immigrant community, a lone woman stood off to the side holding a sign which read, “The law is the law.” I wish I had gone over to speak with her and to ask her what she thought should happen to the children a couple of whom had spoken at the rally. Yes, the law is the law, but we are the ones who make the laws and can remake the laws when they no longer work or apply to the circumstances in which we find ourselves.

I posted this this morning on a parenting blog to which I contribute. I thought I would share what I wrote here as well.

Emotionally, it has been a tough several days.
There is no making sense of a person walking into a nightclub and killing 49 people and wounding that many more. Whether you blame gun laws or lack of mental health services or homophobia which stigmatizes the LGBT community or…
It doesn’t change what happened.

This is not meant to be a debate about why or who to blame, but an invitation for us think about how we help our children deal with tragedies and events like this. Whether our children actually hear the news or hear it from a friend and ask about it, or pick up signals from how we are acting and ask us what is wrong, most of the time our children are smart enough or intuitive enough to know something has happened or something is wrong. We need to be ready to respond to their questions and concerns. What we say and how much we say depends on the age of our children, but I think the least helpful response is to pretend that everything is okay, because our children already know it is not.

At moments like this I find myself thinking about the response the late Fred Rogers, of Mr. Roger’s Neighborhood, gave. He told the story of when he was young being upset by something. When he asked his mother about it, her response was when tragedy strikes to “look for the helpers.” In the midst of the most difficult and challenging circumstances, look for those who are stepping forward to do what they can to help in whatever way they can. I would take his suggestion a step forward. Be the helpers. Do something positive to make a difference. Bake cookies and take them a neighbor or to the police station or to the fire house. Go shopping with your son and daughter and drop off food at the food pantry. Buy a toy and drop it off at the domestic abuse shelter.

In the face of tragedies, whatever the cause, we often feel helpless. By being a helper we not only do something, but we model, that while we cannot stop or change what happened, we can still do our part to help others and make our communities better.

My first memory of this story about Jesus comes from a picture which hung on the Sunday School classroom walls of the Aspinwall United Presbyterian Church. Brown haired, blue eyed, white skinned Jesus smiling and laughing surrounded by children who were also smiling and laughing. And, my guess is as you heard me read that story about Jesus and the children a moment ago, the images that those word evoked for you included Jesus with your children or grandchildren. Laughing. Talking. Learning. Maybe something like a holy Time with the Children.But, truth be told, we often misread these verses.And those pictures from my childhood misrepresent the harsh reality behind the actual meaning and message of this story. A reality in which children were considered disposable. Literally. Occupying the lowest place on the social totem pole. Forced to leave home if there was too little food and too many mouths to feed. Abandoned if they were disabled or the wrong sex or if they could not add to the family’s worth. A harsh reality still in play in too many places in our world today.“Let these children come to me.” Jesus said.The dirty. The disposable. The disabled. The invisible.And, not only is it easy to misread these verses, this morning I also run the risk of misusing these verses. Pulling and pushing them into a shape to fit what I would like to say today. I realize that. I run that risk anytime I put my words alongside these words.

So, with that said, this.On this morning when we recognize and celebrate children.Baptism.Joyful Noise.Bible class.And, remembering, too, it is Mother’s Day.These thoughts about our children.And, by extension, about the rest of us as well.

Pay attention to the pronoun I used.Our children.Not my children.Or, not only my children.Our children who sing in Joyful Noise.Our children who receive Bibles.Our children who squirm in their seats or who fuss at inopportune times.Our children who run off to Sunday Spirit.Our children who are confirmed.Our children who graduate from high school.Our children who build homes in Nicaragua or repair homes in Appalachia.Our children who hang out here on Friday nights.Our children?
Really?With all that pronoun implies?

And, on top of that…A dozen times or so times a year you promise to care for and to support and to pray for and to be an example for the children who are baptized and the children who grow up in our midst. Again,pay attention to the pronoun.Our children.Murphy.Ella.Brandon.Quinn.Maybe even, me…as I continue to try to figure out this growing up stuff.

The pronoun my is hard enough.As in my children.Having some part to play in raising two sons, I know what the exhausting and wonderful and wouldn’t-trade-it-for-the world time and energy and commitment required to raise children. The pronoun our, if we take what we say seriously, is an even more daunting challenge. The circle of concern and care and support and love suddenly becomes exponentially larger.Who falls within that circle defined by our?Where does our responsibility start and stop?

I leave it to you to decide, but I would suggest the circle includes not only my children and our children, but also the children who, on that day, climbed onto the lap of Jesus. And, maybe that is why all this is worth thinking about on this day when we celebrate the children in our midst and remember mothers everywhere and give thanks for all who cared for us and supported us loved us.

There has been a lot of talk lately about income inequality and stagnant wages for workers and a shrinking middle class and more people living in poverty than we have experienced in some time. Concerns which I think are important to take seriously. And wrapped up in the discussion of wages and minimum wage is the discussion of why people are poor.
Are they lazy?
Are they not willing to take responsibility for their own lives?
Are they single parents?
Do they come from single parent households?
Have they become dependent on welfare or on handouts from others?

The public discussion around these issues lacks depth and is doled out in sound bites and avoids the complicated and challenging interplay between personal responsibility and community/social support. In a conversation this past week about the headlines in the news, the concern about single parent households was brought up. I asked the person with whom I was speaking what had kept her marriage together.
Her answer…
The example of their parents.
The hard work they decided to do.
The support of community, church, friends.
I know it doesn’t always happen that way.
Even with the best intentions and the hard work and community and family support sometimes relationships fall apart, but her answered mirrored my thoughts about my own marriage.

Research over the last 30-40 years has documented the rise of individualism in our culture and the decline of those institutions and informal structures which held communities together. There is much to lament about that and I think we are paying the price, but unlike some the answer is not to go back. While there was good in those structures, there was also bad. Because of social norms woman suffered in silence and isolation in abusive relationships which needed to be named for what they were. Those of us who care deeply about community and the communities in which we live need to reframe the debate in more helpful, holistic terms and call out those on either end of the political or social spectrum who frame an important and complicated issue in simplistic terms.